Colter's Path (9781101604830) (10 page)

After a series of further meetings, arguments, and displays of personal eccentricities, the process of advertising the upcoming venture of the California Enterprise Company of East Tennessee, signing up eligible participants, collecting participation fees, and finalizing the many background arrangements necessary for the effort at last were addressed. By the time the enterprise was ready to commence, letters of recommendation from men of prominence had been obtained, lines of credit secured, and a small band of scouts and armed, quasi-military defenders hired and put under Jedd Colter's authority. Knoxville's finest restaurant had been relieved of its best chef, an Irish-born culinary craftsman named Hewitt O'Keefe, and O'Keefe was engaged at an overly high price, to serve as company cook. His profusely described plans for fancy dishes that would make ordinary trail fare “look like porcine swill by comparison,” as he put it, gave Jedd yet one more aspect of the enterprise about which to feel doubtful. He'd spent enough time on road and trail to know that preparation of the kind of foods O'Keefe planned was impractical to the point of being impossible. But Jedd kept his mouth shut, unwilling to create a new potential point of conflict with the Sadlers.

Jedd had qualms as well about a plan for the journey that Wilberforce Sadler insisted be emphasized in all advertising: an anticipated short three-month cross-country overland passage. He intended to pledge that those who threw in with the California Enterprise Company of East Tennessee could look forward to a fast start on gathering California wealth and an early, triumphant return home, with pockets bulging with nuggets and leaking glittering dust.

What gave Jedd the most pause about the pledge of a fast journey was General Gordon Lloyd, who proved to be the slowest-moving, slowest-talking man Jedd had ever encountered. The old military man slurred and
dragged his way through the first planning meeting he attended, a meeting he allowed to begin only after leading the longest, most deliberately spoken prayer in human history. Every syllable was dragged out to the fullest possible extent. And the first item of business brought up after the extended “amen” was a provision, demanded by the general, that no travel would occur on Sundays, that day being set aside for rest, prayer, worship, and reading of the Bible.

Jedd had nothing against rest, prayer, worship, or Bible reading, but clearly the chance for fast progress was being lessened dramatically…and there was no guessing what other ways to slow things down the somnolent General Lloyd might come up with along the way.

It was likely to be a long spring and summer, Jedd thought as he listened to General Lloyd's droning voice. And a long, long trail.

P
ART
T
WO

THE NARROWING OF
THE FUNNEL

C
rozier Bellingham had not intended to become a wagon driver, but a broken ankle suffered by the original driver hired by the Sadlers to man one of the two wagons they were taking for themselves left a vacancy they had difficulty filling on short notice. The job might have gone to Ferkus Varney, but he was a delicate and weak man, possessing little promise for such work, and was thus passed over. When Witherspoon offered the young journalist the chance to learn on the job the skill of being a teamster, Bellingham heard himself agreeing.

Part of the attraction was that the Sadlers had commissioned the construction of two completely new, high-quality wagons, created by the finest wagon maker in the eastern end of the state. The sturdy, blue-painted vehicles were striking to see, smooth in motion, rugged in construction, yet as finely finished, jointed, and crafted as an excellent piece of furniture. The chance to drive such a well-built conveyance would in itself hold appeal to any young man. What sold Bellingham most on the job, however, was the opportunity for extra pay, the guarantee the work provided of being always able to ride rather than walk, and the excellent view his perch
provided. From the driver's seat he could observe and etch into his mind in great detail the movements, sounds, feelings, and perspectives of a cross-country wagon train. And given that Witherspoon Sadler would usually be riding at his side, he would no doubt hear many details of the inner workings of the expedition that would provide wonderful grist for his writings. His novel, of which not a word was yet written, was becoming grander by the day in the vision of its hopeful creator. Who could say? Maybe the story would be written from the point of view of a California-bound teamster Bellingham could base upon himself.

The train moved out of Knoxville, westward, on May 26, 1849, eighteen wagons and fifty human beings strong. The first leg of the long journey would be into and through Kentucky, to the city of Louisville. Aware of his inexperience, Bellingham dreaded the rough country through which they would have to travel, but was sure the practice would be valuable training for the endless miles facing them once they reached Independence and the start of the transcontinental part of their journey.

Bellingham sat straight-spined on his driver's perch as the California Enterprise Company of East Tennessee rolled out of Knoxville with a large crowd of admiring citizens waving from the sides of the streets, pleased to see two and a half score of their friends and neighbors actually beginning such an epic adventure. It brought to the city a sense of being part of something vast and national in scope, a movement that at that moment was probably being reflected in a score of other departures from other cities and towns all across the nation.

Wilberforce Sadler took advantage of the parade atmosphere to wave broadly at the crowd from the driver's perch of the lead wagon, one festooned with flags both decorative and patriotic. The name of the California Enterprise Company of East Tennessee was painted on both sides of the canvas wagon cover. Little shims of whittled pine had been placed strategically, and temporarily, on the wagon wheels to create a drumroll noise,
adding drama to the movement of the head wagon in the long, street-filling wagon train.

In the middle of the train the wagons gave way to a large block of riders, livestock, and pedestrians leading packhorses. Jedd Colter was among the horsemen and wore clothing that had been insisted upon by the Sadlers: a Crockett-styled buckskin outfit intended to remind those who saw it that Jedd came from a noted frontier family of the region, known for woodcraft and significant contributions to the frontier heritage of the region. Jedd, who never liked to strut himself before others, wore the getup over his own protest and kept his eyes fixed mostly straight ahead, declining to return the waves and greetings sent his way from onlookers. He did wave at Robert Bertram, who had hollered at him from an alley and raised in greeting a crockery liquor jug from which he was swigging. Jedd figured it was stolen. If the opportunity had existed, he'd have gladly passed on his costumelike garb to the old drunkard, who would probably wear it with pride.

The entire group consisted of forty-five males and five females, two of the latter being wives, the other three daughters. Over half the argonauts were single young men. A few of the older men were leaving wives and families behind, the plan being for those families to either join their patrons later or just remain home to await the gold-laden return of their men in a few months. In a couple of cases, arrangements were already in place to bring the family to California later by a ship voyage around Cape Horn and north from there to the California coast.

No such arrangements were needed in Witherspoon Sadler's case, there being no wife and family. The man had never married, though those who knew him well could testify that this was not due to any lack of interest. The unfortunate fellow had gone through several failed attempts at romance, trying hard to find a wife suitable to a prominent man of business, some woman with sufficient intelligence, dignity, beauty, and gravity to compete with Wilberforce's wife, Grace. So far, though, the
rotund, unimpressive Withers had failed to find his true love.

As someone with his ear and eye turned to life in this town, Bellingham was aware of Witherspoon Sadler's long and unproductive quest for a spouse. And the man's actions made clear to all his wish that he were a more appealing prospect for the ladies. Despite being a well-off man financially, Witherspoon faced challenges in being seen as an eligible bachelor, chief among them his unappealing physique and piping voice. Even so the man tried hard, and usually ineptly, to cut a dashing figure for the feminine eyes of Knoxville when opportunity arose. That trait of behavior, Bellingham figured, accounted for why Witherspoon left Knoxville riding not on his wagon seat, as would be expected, but instead astride a fine horse from which he could wave in grandiose fashion to the ladies on the boardwalks. And he wore a buckskin outfit just like Jedd Colter's…perhaps unmindful that he cut a very different kind of figure than did Jedd, who was as lean and muscled as Witherspoon was portly. On Witherspoon, the effect of the buckskin garb approached comedy. The broad smiles he received from the women as he rode along derived not from admiration but amusement.

The long train of wagons, packhorses, riders, and pedestrians maintained its paradelike quality for some miles out of Knoxville for the sake of the rural folk who watched from their fields and yards and porches. At length, though, the structure loosened. Jedd left the party long enough to hide in a grove of trees and change back to his usual garb, clothing that a true woodsman would actually wear in field and woods rather than what an actor portraying a woodsman might wear on a New York stage. He abandoned the unwanted garments behind a sycamore.

Witherspoon did not change out of his buckskins, being persuaded that they rendered him a fine figure of rugged masculinity, but he did trade saddle for wagon seat in hopes that the wagon would be kinder to his hemorrhoid-afflicted posterior. And thus Crozier Bellingham
found himself, as earlier anticipated, with a seatmate. Witherspoon was in a mood to talk.

“There is something fine indeed about bidding good-bye to the past and taking to a new way,” he said. “Do you not agree, Crozier? I'm sure you do, sure you do. That, to me, is one of the most luring things about this entire, burgeoning rush for California gold: in California all will be fresh and new. Old acquaintances, old contacts, old friends, and old enemies, these will be erased as if they never were. This is a vast land on which we live, Crozier, vast enough that even the thousands who will cross it will be as mice crossing a plain, moving in the same direction and aiming at the same destination, yet spread so widely that they will be largely unaware of one another. The odds of encounter with one's past are remote. It's a simple matter of logic.”

“I'm sure you're right,” Crozier replied, making mental note of the conversation for later addition to his journal.

“He is not right.”

Crozier, startled by the unexpected voice, turned his head and saw that Jedd Colter had ridden up beside them and had overheard all that Witherspoon had said.

“What do you mean, I'm not right?” Witherspoon called over. “How could it be otherwise than what I said? It is such a huge, broad land out there before us!”

“That's true. I know that far better than most, sir, having crossed that land more than once.”

Witherspoon winced a little at the subtle but clear pointing out of the fact that he held no particular qualification to make comment on the subject at hand, while Jedd did. Jedd let the moment hold, then pass, and went on.

“What you said makes sense on its surface, I'll grant you that, Witherspoon,” he said. “But where it breaks down is that you're forgetting that, big and broad as this land of ours is, them who cross it don't traverse it like water down a sloped roof, spreading out everywhere. It's more like water going into a funnel, and funnels start out wide but narrow down. Take us here, for example. We're heading up to Louisville, and from there we'll be making
our way over to Independence, from whence we'll commence the main part of our journey. But we won't be the only ones. Every day there's folks who come in to Independence and St. Joe and other places like that, from all over our side of the nation. From the top of Maine to the coast of the gulf down south. They're the water from the broad part of the funnel, and Independence and the other launch points for the westbound trails are like the narrow part of the funnel. The part where everything comes together and for a little time is all at the same place and flowing out in the same direction. Not spread out and vast at all. Not there. And there's other places along the way where the funnel narrows again. Places like Fort Kearny and Fort Laramie up on the California-Oregon Trail. And Santa Fe on the trail we'll be following. The odds are right good, Witherspoon, that many of us in this company will encounter folks we've known before while we're crossing this big, vast country you were talking about. It's happened to me already. You got to remember that folks in this country have been heading far west for a goodly while now, heading to settle in Oregon or California, and sometimes stopping off before they get there. First time I traveled the California trail, I chanced upon no less than three folks I used to know all the way back in my North Carolina days. And two more from Knoxville. Folks who had decided to go to Oregon but had never gone that far, settling in just past Independence. The narrowing of the funnel, you see. Bringing folks together into one small area. Squeezing a thousand different paths together into one. And I've heard of the same thing happening to lots of others. And it'll happen all the more now that there's the lure of gold and even more folks going west.”